


The Elephant in the Room

by Phaes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phaes/pseuds/Phaes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere along the way, Wyoming had somehow fallen into a relationship with the Director.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elephant in the Room

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mentions of sexy tiems, possible body horror, reference to mental asylums, Brits drinking coffee.

Out of all the people on base, the one person Wyoming had sincerely believed he would never have sex with was the Director.

It had been the strangest start to a relationship Wyoming had ever had. Not that he would really call it a relationship; it was more of a compromise for mutual pleasure. Wyoming didn’t mind – if given the choice, he preferred to keep sex and emotions separate.

It had all begun after a particularly trying meeting. As the other Freelancers had filed out of the room Wyoming had lingered, watching as the Director stooped over the table, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Seems like you could do with some help relieving that tension.”

Initially he had meant it purely in jest. So he was already starting to regret it when the Director slowly lowered his hand and raised his head towards Wyoming. Wyoming smiled back and crossed his arms, popping his hip as he leant against the door, facade completely unruffled– he knew it was unwise to show fear before the Director.

The Director pinned him with his eyes.

Wyoming felt a bit like a specimen about to be dissected and prepared himself to be summarily denied, insulted, rejected and then possibly discharged. What could he have been thinking, hitting on the Director? This was bound to be the biggest mistake of his life.

Not that he would admit it.

He shifted, slouching further against the doorjamb; he was, he had to admit, as cool as a cucumber, completely and utterly unfazed at being at the centre of the Director’s attention for once - a rare occurrence, as it was usually Carolina or Texas who bore the brunt of the Director’s focus. The Director remained posed behind the table as his eyes raked up and down Wyoming’s figure. Wyoming suppressed a shiver that ran up his spine, and the Director’s lip quirked.

“Is that an offer?”

Wyoming faltered, face colouring in surprise.

_What._

Had the Director really just said that? Wyoming slowly straightened, eyes locked with the Director’s. Reaching behind himself for the doorknob, he stepped forward, the door locking behind him with a quiet _click._

“What you implying, mate?” Wyoming said, still hovering by the door – ready to leave if it turned out to be a joke.

The Director’s face remained blank, but a small twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Come here, Agent Wyoming.”

He came.

-

It was when Wyoming nearly rejected a random proposition at the bar that he knew he had fallen hard for the Director. Of course he stopped himself just before the words left his mouth, merely smiling and nodding before he followed his companion for the night.

The sex had been awkward and unsatisfactory (though not nearly as awkward as the time both he and his companion asked to be paid at the same time), and as Wyoming lay beside his partner, all he could really think to himself was that he wanted a shower. Moving carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping figure he got dressed, wincing at the feel of cotton against sweaty skin. Looking around, Wyoming tried to spot his shoes in the dim room, eventually spotting them underneath a red jacket.

Flicking through the cheap wallet from the other’s jacket, Wyoming removed enough money to cover his dry-cleaning bill and a little more. It was only when he was almost out the door that he remembered the hotel bill, and paused to drop a few notes back into the wallet to cover it before he was out the door and hailing a cab.

Finally back at the base, Wyoming had been heading towards the showers, hygiene products and towel in hand, when he spotted the light shining from underneath the Director’s door. He hesitated and, quickly looking around, made sure the coast was clear before approaching the door. A quick rap of his knuckles against the wood had the door gently swinging open to reveal the Director hunched over at his table, reading a report. He looked up, blinking owlishly at Wyoming.

“Wyoming? Did you need something?”

Wyoming shook is head. “No mate, I was just checking to see if the light had been left on.” He scanned the room, taking in the mess of papers adorning the table and spilling onto the floor.

“What time is it?”

Wyoming glanced at the silver watch on his wrist.

“It’s nearly oh-two hundred.”

“Two am… why are you still awake Wyoming?”

Wyoming grinned and hefted his towel. “I was planning on taking a shower.” He paused; grin taking on a mischievous twist, “Care to join me?”

The Director stilled, before placing his pen on the desk. Standing up he subtly rolled his shoulders, attempting to work the kinks out.

“It certainly would be more efficient to share a stall.” The Director replied.

“What a ingenious idea.” Wyoming laughed.

“Well, I _am_ a scientist.” The Director stated.

-

“…that’s all. Dismissed.”

The Director had finished his speech; allowing the Freelancers to finally break formation. Murmuring to each other, they headed towards the exit, most making a beeline straight towards the rec room. Wyoming personally was looking forward to retreating to his room and collapsing – it had been an exhausting mission.

“Wyoming. Stay back.”

Washington gave Wyoming a sympathetic glance as York towed him out of the room, babbling about the latest game of Grifball, Wyoming gave him a weary smile in return. Room now evacuated, Wyoming locked the door, their routine had been well established by this point in time.

The Director was already undoing his shirt as Wyoming turned back to him, but upon feeling Wyoming’s gaze on his body he stopped, as though struck by a sudden thought.

“If you are too tired –“ The Director started, slight concern undercutting his voice.

“Don’t be silly old chap,’ Wyoming amusedly cut him off, quickly discarding his armour.

Now clad only in his under suit, Wyoming made his way clear of the door, meeting the Director halfway across the room. Leaning forward he twinned his arms around the Director’s neck.

‘You know I can never say no.”

-

For the first in his life, Wyoming says no.

Half naked and straddling the Director’s lap, Wyoming curled forward, hands gripping the Director’s shoulders and head pressed against his chest. He gritted his teeth as wave after wave of pain gripped him, sending his frame jerking atop the Director’s.

It had only a week after the Tower Heist and Wyoming had only just been released from the med bay earlier that day. Caught just under his chest plate with an energy blast, Wyoming had been just barely protected by his under suit. Rather than having his entire abdomen obliterated, he had only had most of the layers of his skin and muscle burnt away, leaving the edges of the hole cauterized and his internal organs on display. The feeling of air over intestines had been one of the strangest sensations Wyoming had ever felt in his life, and in his shock it had been almost calming, the blare of gunfire lulling him into unconsciousness.

He had woken up almost a week later in the med bay, the hole in his torso now replaced with synthetic skin. It had clashed horribly with his real skin.

Lying there, almost delirious on painkillers, the doctors had explained to him what was to come. How over time the synth skin would meld to his skin, forming it’s own nerves and veins in correlation to his own, slowly adapting until it took on the qualities of his own skin. How it would be a painful process, but ultimately worth it, far superior to any other known method – it had been designed by the Director himself, of course. And then they had given him some painkillers to take when the pain got too bad and sent him on his merry way.

He’s not quite sure what happened after that, but the next thing he knew he was gasping and grinding in the Director’s lap and suddenly his abdomen was on fire and someone was dragging a cheese grater through his veins.

He tried to remember how to breathe.

“Wyoming.”

The pain was dying down now and Wyoming became aware of the Director’s hands placed awkwardly on his back, hesitantly stroking him as they rocked back and forth. Wyoming carefully unclenched his fingers from the Director’s shoulders, hands stiff from how tight he had grasped him – the Director would have bruises there tomorrow.

His abdomen was still in agony, but it was only a smouldering furnace now that would send out the occasional flash of pain rippling throughout his body.  Painful, but tolerable. Wyoming sat up, and, unsure of where to place his hands, let them hang by his sides.

“Well. That certainly killed the mood.” He said.

Wyoming could still feel the Director half hard beneath him, and he wondered if they were supposed to continue. He was mildly repulsed by the idea, and he abruptly became aware of just how very _tired_ he felt. He felt old and empty and all he wanted to do was down a bottle of painkillers and sleep for the rest of his life.

“I, ah, I’m afraid that I can’t continue tonight.”

His abdomen sent out a ripple of pain in agreement. Wyoming released his breath in a harsh pant as it died off. The Director watched him with hawk’s eyes as Wyoming slowly got off him with his arms hovering protectively before his belly. Wyoming forced himself to straighten and drop his arms, making his way to the door with a false casualness. Almost falling, he made himself bend down and pickup his shirt. He left his shoes where they were.

“Wyoming.” The Director said.

He stopped; hand on the doorknob, and twisted his head to smile back at the Director.

“Maybe next time, old chap.”

He left, making his way out of the Director’s room and down the hallway, shirt draped over his arm. His stiff stride was slow. And when he was finally out of sight of the Director’s room, he collapsed against the wall, doubling over and wrapping his arms around his middle. It felt like if he were to let go, even for just one second, his intestines would fall out of his body and spread all over the floor.

He took a deep breath.

Using the wall as support, Wyoming slowly climbed up, the other arm wrapped around his stomach in an attempt to stop himself from flying apart at the seams. Waves and waves of vertigo threatened to overcome hi, and he had never been more grateful in his life than when the cool metal of his door handle greeted his wandering hand.

Stumbling inside he made his way to his dresser table, hands knocking aside his alarm clock as they scrambled for the tiny white bottle full of medical bliss. Hands shaking as he careful taps out a few of the painkillers, he brought them up to his mouth and swallowed sharply, his throat battling the scratchy pills every step of the way as they scrapped down his throat.

He collapsed on his bed and was instantly asleep.

-

He found out the next day that he’d been removed from the leader board, making the likelihood of him participating in such missions again minimal.

 Needless to say, he was displeased.

-

In the month following the incident the Director avoided Wyoming. The end result being Wyoming having to literally jump the Director before they had sex again.

Basking in the afterglow, Wyoming wondered whether or not he could lie there a bit longer. Normally he would be up and out within 5 minutes, already dressed and heading to his room to sleep, however, this time he was content to just lie there and reveal in the warmth and presence of another person. Just as he had finally convinced himself to leave the Director had rolled over, throwing one of his arms around Wyoming’s waist and nuzzling his face into Wyoming’s shoulder.

 _‘Well,’_ Wyoming thought, ‘ _that decides that.’_

-

When he woke up in the morning the bed was empty and the spot beside him cold. Stretching, Wyoming ignored the small twinge of disappointment and made his way to the Director’s ensuite. As he styled his hair with the Director’s gel, Wyoming could not help but ponder exactly what they were. Reaching no solid conclusion, he washed his hands clean and exited the bathroom.

In the kitchen there was a single steaming mug and a note. Raising an eyebrow, Wyoming read the note and bit back a snort.

_I’m afraid I don’t have any tea. Hopefully you’ll survive the coffee._

_\- L.C._

When he finished the coffee, Wyoming left his own note next to the washed mug.

_Contrary to popular belief, coffee won’t actually kill me._

_\- R.J._

He snuck into the Director’s office and left a canister of tea on the Director’s desk later that day.

-

The next time Wyoming stayed for the night he decided to return the favour. It was almost dawn and he was just frying the bacon when the Director shambled into the kitchen, eyes heavy with sleep and hair in disarray - obviously in need of some caffeine. He was just about to start scrambling the eggs when the Director wrapped his arms around Wyoming’s waist.

“Allison…” the Director sighed into Wyoming’s hair. Wyoming stilled, and then forced himself to keep moving.

“Wyoming.” He replied, keeping his tone light.

The Director tensed, and then removed his arms, moving to sit at the table. Wyoming cheerfully spooned the food onto their plates and pretended nothing had happened.

-

Lips wrapped around the Director’s cock, Wyoming conclusively decided that his favourite sound in the world was of his name falling from the Director’s lips in breathless little pants and gasps.

It almost made up for all the times it was Allison’s.

-

Wyoming had been making his way to the rec room when Tex had collided with him. She had snarled and pushed past him, issuing a brusque “The Director wants to see you.”

Wyoming watched, vaguely bemused, as she stalked off, obviously irritated, before shrugging and making his way to the Director’s office.

“You wanted to see- ”

A small _oof_ escaped Wyoming’s mouth as the Director shoved Wyoming against the wall, the door slamming shut. Left breathless at the impact, the Director proceeded to ravish Wyoming’s neck, roughly pulling his shirt to the side. Wyoming moaned, tilting his head back as the Director’s teeth scraped over his Adam’s apple. Immediately the Director’s hand was in his hair, roughly jerking his head down, attacking Wyoming’s lips with his own in a bruising kiss.

“ _Allison._ ” The Director growled into Wyoming’s mouth.

“ _Reggie._ ” He murmured back.

Maybe someday it would stick.

-

They had been testing various experimental units over the months at Project Freelancer, and finally it was Wyoming’s turn. Making his way to the training field, he was almost bouncing with excitement as he received his unit. Correctly installed, the temporal device should theoretically allow him to manipulate time, and all it required was a few calibrations and some test runs before it was officially decreed good to go.

Sealed into the room, Wyoming was aware of the eyes of the various scientist and Freelancers who had come to watch. He straightened his back and grinned.

“Alright, Agent Wyoming, prepare for the first test.” A scientist said over the intercom, “All systems cleared, initialising unit. Prepare for test run in 3. 2. 1.”

The unit whirred to life and he could feel a pulse start to encapsulate him. He felt like a God as the energy enveloped him and was sent thrumming through his body.

And then

Everything

Broke

_Down._

It was like the entire world had glitched, and Wyoming was a stream of corrupted data caught in the surging maelstrom of broken code and lost commands. He could feel tendrils of his essence spin off into the ether as raw time surged through his bones, crumbling them from the inside. He watched in mindless horror as his limbs disappeared before his eyes, feeling them pop and his brain boil, only for everything to suddenly reappear, intact once more.

He could barely make out the sound of distorted words from within his bubble as he died over and over again.

_“- off! -”_

_“- at the wrong moment –“_

_“-stuck like-“_

_“- whole years –“_

_“I SAID TURN IT OFF!”_

Reality re-established itself and Wyoming was left standing in the middle of the room. Crumpling to his knees, he had just finished vomiting as the doors swooshed open and a med team rushed in.

When he woke up again he’d lost a whole month, but it felt like he’d lost years.

He slowly turned his head to the side. On the table beside him was a small chocolate and a cold cup of tea.

Slowly, he reached out, brushing his fingers against the delicate china.

After one sip he discarded the tea as a lost cause and settled on eating the chocolate as he admired his new wrinkles in the mirror.

He was just leaning forward to examine the crowfeet at his eyes when he heard someone gasp behind him. It was one of the nurses and the next thing he knew, he was being ushered into the Director’s office.

A whirlwind of activity later it was just him and the Director in the room – the Director sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers, watching Wyoming over the top of them and once more Wyoming was reminded of being a specimen underneath a magnify glass.

“Agent Wyoming. I need you to report on what happened during the experiment.”

Wyoming had seen this coming.

“And which experiment would that be?” He replied almost gaily, smile firmly cemented in place.

The Director frowned, fingers tensing and relaxing.

“Do not joke, Wyoming. You know which experiment I mean.”

“I don’t remember what happened.”

“Wyoming-“

“I _don’t_ remember. At all. All I know is that I was heading down to receive my unit and then suddenly I’m waking up in my bed looking 20 years older.”

Wyoming was lying through his teeth, but what could the Director possibly need of disjointed rambles over how it felt to have your entire being eaten away by time, to be continually reborn in a flaring supernova, only to die a second later?

No, Wyoming would keep that to himself, and they could pretend he remembered nothing.

The Director sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, Wyoming. Have it your way.”

He reached over and grabbed another report from the pile on his desk, fixating all his attention on it as he scrawled over it, leaving Wyoming to stand in the increasingly awkward silence.

“Hey.”

“What is it?”

“Knock Knock.”

The Director sighed and lowered his pen.

“Agent Wyoming –“

“Knock Knock.”

“Fine, if it will make you leave sooner. Who’s there?”

“Director.”

“Director who?”

“Direct your attention to me.”

As the Director looked up in confusion Wyoming stole a kiss, leaping back and cheerfully skipping off with a wave of his fingers and a “Ta-ta.” tossed over his shoulder, leaving the Director in stunned shock at his desk.

-

After that, things seem to go back to normal, but the Director was more distant, more prone to leaving and postponing any time they would spend together. Wyoming didn’t really mind – the Director was a busy man after all. It was obvious he was caught up in the middle of some project or another.

Everything came to light when the AI’s were revealed.

Carolina was the first agent to receive one of the AI’s, but Wyoming was not long after.

Gamma was Wyoming’s first true friend.

He was also the last person Wyoming ever trusts.

After Gamma ripped himself from Wyoming’s mind everything was a bit of a blur. It had taken months of counselling and coddling in an asylum before his mind has been ‘repaired’ and he could think again. Just before he had been discharged from the hospital, he had been given a grand total of two messages. The first was a message from Command, informing him that Project Freelancer has been dissolved and that he’d been reassigned to the Chairman’s department. The second one was an invitation from Gamma- no, from Gary.

He chose Gary.


End file.
